


Merry Sissmas

by orphan_account



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: I present to you Solder as a Mall Santa, Merry Sissmas!, They wanted Solder as a Mall Santa, This is someone's Secret Santa gift, about how seamen who are lost are considered still 'on patrol', inspired by a tumblr post
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 18:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9002266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: While doing his normal holiday routine as a Mall Santa, the solder receives a special request.





	

       The beard was itchy.

       He had grown it out since September, watching as iron grey whiskers curled and grew with a sense of purpose. It was always a struggle, the start of the beard, but by the end of November, when the locks were long and the grey was misted through with white, it was as if the beard wasn’t there.

       It was just a part of him, and brushing the crumbs out of it was as natural as brushing his teeth.

       The engineer would trim it, dress it up and make it actually look presentable. Out would come the razor blades and scissors, the mustache wax and trimmers, and the next thing he knew he was starting into the eyes of-

       Well, someone who most certainly did not look like the solder.

       (He’d never admit, but he was grateful for the help.)

       And then there was the suit, which ever year seemed to gain more room around the biceps and less around the middle. The solder had tried to keep it away from the commie bastards, tucked it in a cedar lock box behind the rations, but every year they got to it.

       (The heavy never looked him in the eye whenever he brought it up, a sure sign of guilt.)

       And the hat.

       God bless that hat.

       The scout would think himself clever and go running off into battle with it on, singing carols as he beat the head of the spy with a fish, shouting reindeer puns as he pelted the engineer with snowballs. By the time the kraut would wrangle it from him, it was always covered in blood and soot. The solder had spent many a long evening waiting in the medibay watching as nimble fingers stitched and patched and fluffed.

       (“I used my _good_ sutures Solder, the _expensive_ kind, so I will kindly ask you to take better care of your things!”)   

       But here he was, with a few seams adjusted and his beard ready and his hat on and by God he was going to do this job just like the forefathers of America had wanted.

       And everything had been fine, really. He had been on his best behavior: not giving any of the kids flack for their hippie wishes, not handing out hand grenades like he had in years previous, not scratching continuously at the beard, not beating the scout’s head in over every stupid thing he said. Oh yes, he had been good. He had been so very good.

       Then the request came.

       “I need your help.”

       The solder looked at the girl on his knee out of the corner of his eye, watching as she gently tugged his beard as if making sure he was paying attention (or that it was real- it was usually a toss-up between the two). Slowly, he leaned in.

       “I’m all ears.”

       “Are you _really_ Santa? I need help from the _real_ Santa. It’s _really_ important.”

       (The forefathers are watching. The forefathers are watching. It is un-American to swear at a child on Sissmas Eve.)

       “…The real Santa is busy, but I have been ordained by the founders of these glorious United States of America and the Big Man at the Pole himself to take up this position of serving the tristate area in his name. So no, I’m _not_ the real Santa, but I do work _for_ him.”   

       The little girl nodded decisively before looking into the depths of her tangled, anxious fingers.

       “I want to tell my daddy Merry Sissmas, but I don’t know how.”

       “…With your voice?”

       “ _You said you worked for Santa!_ ”

       “I am not privy to matters of top security! You are going to have to explain!”

       She huffed, shaking her head at her mother in a way that made the solder grit his teeth. When she turned back to face him, she took a deep breath.

       “My daddy is in the navy. He’s on a submarine in the Atlantic. I want to tell him Merry Sissmas.”

       The solder sighed, “You’re going to have to wait until he comes on shore.”

       “I’ve been waiting!” her scream was deafening, her arms thrown wide, “Mommy says he’s on patrol, but she always says that whenever I ask if I can see him soon. Do you have a radio? Can I call him? I want to call him!”

       “…What did you’re mother tell you your father is doing again?”

       “She said that daddy’s on patrol.”

       “And how long has she been saying this?”

       “Since two Sismasses ago.”

       A quiet settled in the solder’s chest, settled into his ribs and made the whole of him feel terribly, terribly hollow. It must have shown, because slowly, he watched the girls face morph into the ugly, wrinkly mess of a child’s sadness.

       “You can’t help, can you.”

       The solder opened his mouth, then closed it. No, he couldn’t help, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her either. He couldn’t tell those big brown eyes, that quivering lip, that dripping nose that no, she couldn’t tell her father Merry Sissmas. It was impossible.

       He scratched his beard.

       But then…who was he to step into the realm of what was and what was not possible through magic? Who was he to speak on behalf of the Big Man in Red? If a thing is believe in, is it not real? So then, if this girl believed she could talk to her father, then the means to do so existed whether he knew of them or not. Simple math.

       He scratched his bum.

       And hell, with all he had seen, it wasn’t like he shouldn’t think it possible.  The solder had seen the dead come back loads of times. True, they had done so out of pure vengeance and with the intense desire to maim and murder, but times change. He himself was essentially brought back to life regularly throughout the work week, and yes, while he had a desire to maim and murder, it was for the glory of America. That made it okay.

       (Besides, he knew a guy.)

       He smiled.

       “I can…but I need to shave first.”

**Author's Note:**

> MERRY SISSMAS!
> 
> Link to tumblr post here http://floramei.tumblr.com/post/154894069357/still-on-patrol


End file.
